


Third Time's a Charm

by warqueenfuriosa



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Christmas, Christmas Fluff, Cute, Domestic Fluff, F/M, Fluff, Gen, Holidays, Kisses, Mistletoe, Romance, reader - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-04
Updated: 2015-12-04
Packaged: 2018-05-04 20:24:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,144
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5347427
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/warqueenfuriosa/pseuds/warqueenfuriosa
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The three times I get caught under the mistletoe with Dean Winchester, and the one time it actually worked. Reader POV.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Third Time's a Charm

**Author's Note:**

> I should be cramming for a midterm tomorrow but I am most definitely not doing that. I've got Christmas fluff and Dean Winchester kisses on the brain and I don't regret it one bit.

It totally took me by surprise, the first time I got caught under the mistletoe with Dean. Sam, Dean, and I were at the Roadhouse, enjoying a rare moment of peace and quiet over the holidays in between hunts. Dean and I were playing a few rounds of pool when Sam started snickering from his spot at the bar as he watched us. I straightened up from the shot I was trying to concentrate on and turned to glare at him. He nodded and raised his gaze to the ceiling. Dean and I looked up at the same time.

A very healthy swag of mistletoe dangled from the ceiling above our heads. I glanced at Dean and he shrugged. I swayed towards him and his pupils blew wide, giving him away. And it was in that moment I decided I was going to have a little fun…

I leaned in closer, parting my lips ever so slightly. I hovered just a few inches away from his mouth, close enough to feel the way his breathing had grown fast and shallow, close enough to see the frantic flutter of his pulse at his throat.

Then I shoved him away.

“In your dreams, Winchester,” I teased as I moved to the opposite side of the pool table and lined up my shot again.

[][][]

It happened again a few days later. A rash of unusual deaths in a small Midwestern town had all the typical signs of spirit activity. Ellen wasn’t happy to see us go when Christmas was so close but she knew we wouldn’t be able to leave it alone until it was cleared up.

As we drove into the small town, I couldn’t stop staring. Every doorway, every lamp post, every inch of the place was covered with Christmas decorations and lights.

“It’s a little creepy,” Dean said.

“It’s nice,” Sam said. “Kind of charming in a way.”

Dean raised an eyebrow at his brother. “Someone’s been dipping into the egg nog already.”

Sam rolled his eyes and headed to the library for research, while Dean and I went out among the locals to ask some questions. As we stepped into a diner, two little girls zipped past in a flurry of coats, scarves, and pigtails, and I sidestepped to avoid a minor collision.

A woman caught the two girls and held them in place. “I am so sorry,” she said. “I swear, they’re better behaved than this.”

The girls giggled and looked wholly unabashed at their antics.

“It’s not a problem,” I said with a smile to put the mother at ease. I started to take the opening and ask the usual routine of questions but the girls wouldn’t stop twittering with laughter to each other.

“Looks like a pretty bad case of the giggles,” Dean said.

“If only I knew the cure,” the mother said with a stern glare at the girls. They ducked behind their mother and peeked out, whispering and pointing at something above our heads.

My smile began to fade as I followed the direction of their little fingers and Dean did the same. A nice, fat swath of mistletoe hung above the doorway.

“Oh god,” I muttered.

I glanced down again to meet Dean’s gaze and we took a step apart in opposite directions. The girls giggled harder.

[][][]

“You’re not funny, Samuel,” I growled into the phone.

Sam chuckled. He didn’t even bother correcting me on his name like he normally would. He was too giddy over his accomplishment of covering Bobby’s house in mistletoe by the time I woke up that morning.

“I’m hilarious,” Sam said.

“At least he thinks so,” Dean said, slightly muffled in the background.

“Seriously, I’m going to kill you when you get back, Sam. Where did you disappear to anyway? Why didn’t you take me with you?”

“An old friend of Bobby’s is having some hellhound trouble,” Dean said. “We’ll be back by dinner.”

“Dean,” I said in a firm tone. “Turn around and come get me right now.”

“We got this. Go back to sleep. It’s no big deal.”

“Dean! Sam, make him turn around.”

Sam laughed. “Like that’s gonna happen.”

“I’m not kidding, Dean. I’m coming after you then.”

I could hear Sam and Dean whispering to each other for a moment before Dean’s voice came over the phone, loud and clear this time.

“Look, tomorrow is Christmas,” he said. “And I thought, you know…well, I didn’t want to ruin it for you by getting stuck on a hunt.”

“So you left me behind instead? That doesn’t make me feel any better.”

“Yeah, guess you’ve got a point there. But I’m still not turning around.”

I gripped the phone tighter until my knuckles turned white. “Why not?”

“Because someone needs to get rid of all that mistletoe Sam put up.”

“Hey!” protested Sam. “I worked hard on that.”

The sting of being left behind was still there, aching in the pit of my stomach, but at least I knew they’d be back in a few hours.

I waited all day with one ear constantly tipped towards the phone, listening and waiting for their call to say they were on their way home, that the job was over, that they were safe.

Nothing came.

Hour after hour, silence screamed in Bobby’s empty house. I tried countless times to call them but no one picked up. Not Sam, or Dean, or Bobby. And the worry started to set in, a tiny pinprick of black that blossomed into a raging jumble of anxiety and dread. Something was wrong. I knew it. And I couldn’t get to them.

Around midnight, headlights flashed across the kitchen window followed by the purr of the Impala’s engine. I ran to the door, fully prepared to rip Dean Winchester to pieces for leaving me behind. As my fingers closed around the handle, the door opened and Dean was there, filling the doorway. I caught a fleeting glimpse of his face, his eyes clouded with concern, before he cupped my face in his hands and kissed me, his body bruised and bleeding, his jacket swathed in the sharp tang of gunpowder. I gripped fistfuls of his shirt and pulled him tight against me as I poured every ounce of fear and relief I’d felt all day into that kiss.

“Finally,” Sam muttered as he skirted past us.

I broke away and sucked in a breath of air. Dean kept his hold on me, his thumbs skimming over my cheekbones and down along my jawline. I slipped my arms around his neck and he wrapped his arms around me. I could feel him sigh against my collarbone as the stress melted from his tense muscles.

Just over his shoulder, I saw a tiny bundle of mistletoe, tied with a bright red ribbon, pinned to the doorway above our heads.

 


End file.
